


Ready, Part ll

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Romance, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the night before, when absolutely nothing happened, Mom, I swear. Oops. Flashback. Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready, Part ll

## Ready, Part ll

by Pink Dragon

Since disclaimers are probably not worth the paper they're, um, not written on, why bother? They're mine! Mine! Mine!

This is what happens when you send really lovely feedback. You get sequels. <g> You really need to have read "Ready" first, which is "R" in the ABC series. Otherwise you'll just be lost. (Which is "L" in the ABC series. Shameless self-promotion, here.) This one has actual dialog, though not much of it. But then Blair and Jim never really did need words to communicate, did they? Not betaed. 

Tiny spoiler for TSbBS. But surely we've all seen all the eps by now, right? 

This story is a sequel to: Ready 

* * *

I, Blair Jacob Sandburg, am the cuddle king of Cascade. Jim invited me into his bed last night, after the Day From Hell. I wrapped myself around him and I have no plans to ever let go. We didn't have sex. We didn't even kiss. He just threw back the covers, held out his hand to me and I climbed into his bed, his arms and his heart all in the same instant. 

When I settled down onto the mattress and bunched the pillow under my head, Jim smiled at me, sad and sweet. It had, after all, been a very bad day. I smiled back and whispered, "It's okay, Jim. Come here." When I reached for him he moved slowly into my arms, rubbed his face against my tee shirt covered chest, and laid his head down right over my heart. Then he whispered my name, my actual name, not one of my many nicknames, and then he went straight to sleep. I laid there for awhile, stroking his hair and his back, pretty much whatever I could reach, while he slept with his ear pressed to my heart and his hands tucked underneath me. 

Eventually I drifted off to sleep too, content just to have him there, the weight of him warm and solid in my arms. When I wake, just before dawn, he's still there, wrapped in my arms, his head on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. 

It's still dark and quiet in the loft, and I realize suddenly and with great clarity that this is where I belong, where I'll stay for the rest of my life. I know in my heart that I love this man, that whatever problems we encounter in the years ahead, we will always be together, and we'll always be happy. Unfortunately, I really, really need to pee. I have to shake my head at my little journey down Romance Lane. I try to slip out from under him without waking him up. "Like that could happen," I think to myself, when he stirs, lifts his head and smiles at me. 

"Hey, buddy, gotta pee," I say to him. 

"You're coming back, right?" He whispers, stroking my face with his fingertips. 

I run my hands up and down his bare back and whisper back to him, "Damn right, I'm coming back. Now lemme up before I wet the bed." 

He grins at me, then lowers his head slowly and presses his mouth against mine. I close my eyes and kiss him back, suddenly forgetting all about needing to pee. His mouth is soft and warm against mine as we kiss, slowly exploring each other, the first touch of tongues wet and thrilling. Our first kiss is sweet, deep and thorough. I learn the texture of his lips, and the slick heat of his tongue stroking slowly against mine. He groans low in his throat and it rumbles through his chest like a great big cat, purring contentedly. He tastes the way he smells, clean and earthy. After he's kissed me, tenderly, thoroughly and with great attention to detail, he pulls away slightly, runs one thumb over my mouth and whispers, "I love you, Blair." 

"Aw, Jim. I love you, too." We grin at each like a couple of fools for a few seconds, then I say, "But I really, really gotta pee, man." 

He laughs and throws himself off me, onto the other side of the bed and I'm up and out of bed and down the stairs fast. The quicker I get down, the quicker I can get back up. Back into his bed, into his arms, into his heart. 

^^^^^ 

He wakes slowly. I'm spooned behind him, both arms wrapped around him, one hand slowly stroking his cock, the other hand teasing his nipples. It's mid-morning now, hours since he got up to pee. Hours since he climbed back in my bed and back in my arms. The loft is full of soft yellow sunlight, warm and quiet. I've got my face buried in that hair of his, the curls tickling my nose. To have him here, in my bed, in my arms, I can't describe what this is like. Maybe like that last puzzle piece slipping into place. A paradigm has shifted, slightly to the left, and everything is right where it belongs. I'm ready now to take that trip with him. 

Finally. 

He moans low in his throat and his hands come up to stroke my arms. He's awake, now. "Is this okay?" I ask him, stilling my hand on his cock. 

"Yes, god yes," he sighs, and moves his hips, thrusting into my hand. He's moving in my arms, slowing pressing forward against my hands, then back against my body, warm, languid, and alive. He's so beautiful like this, and I've waited so long to have him here. I don't want to let him come, I don't want this to end. I want to keep him just like this, writhing slowly in my arms, gasping my name. But I also want to watch him come. To hear him call my name in ecstasy, gasping as he fills my hand with warm creamy semen. I'm torn between the two, until he cries, "Please..." and I give in. I start thrusting against him, my cock trapped between us, pressing against his sweet little bottom. I want to be inside him, soon. And I want him inside me, even sooner. I cup his balls in my hand and roll them slowly with one hand while the other strokes up and down his chest, brushing roughly over his nipples, taking him up that last notch. Then he twists his head around, hooks one arm behind my neck, and pulls me to his mouth, and he kisses me. Our second kiss, eyes open, watching each other, both of us breathing hard, his eyes wide and blue. Then his hand slides from behind my neck and runs down my side and wraps around my cock, and he whispers against my mouth, "Please, Jim...." I give his balls a last little squeeze and move my hand back to his cock. He groans and closes his eyes. 

I pull my mouth off of his and press it against his cheek. "Open your eyes, Blair. Look at me, baby." And he does, and he smiles, soft and sexy. 

"What?" he whispers. "What do you need, Jim?" 

"I need to see your eyes when I make you come, Blair. I need you to see my face, when I make you come. Nobody but me will ever do this to you again, baby. So look at me when you come, and know that I love you." His right hand tightens on my cock and I rock into it, and I stroke him hard and fast. He twines the fingers of his left hand with mine, squeezes my hand hard, and he's there. He comes in my hand, blue eyes never leaving mine, and he whispers my name, like a blessing, like a prayer, and I come, too. 

As our cocks soften and our breathing slows, he turns in my arms, stroking my back and my hair and smiling at me. We kiss slowly, languorously, reveling in the feel and taste and smell and sight and sound of each other. Finally I pull back a bit, and say softly, "How many times?" 

"How many times what?" 

"How many times did you come upstairs and sit with me?" 

He shrugs, looks away and says, "Whenever we needed it, Jim." 

I take his face in my hands and make him look at me. "How many times, Blair?" 

"Um, seventy-three." He whispers. 

"You came up here seventy-three times without me knowing it?" 

"Well, you kind of knew it." He says, smiling a little now. "Whenever we had a really bad case, you'd toss and turn in your sleep. I'd be down here working on the diss, or preparing the next day's lecture and I'd hear you. So I'd come up and just sit by your bed, and you'd stop tossing and turning. I don't know if it was my scent, or my hearbeat, or what, that calmed you, but you'd sigh, and I could see the tension leave your body. You'd just sort of slump down into the pillows and sigh, and you'd sleep soundly, at least for as long as I stayed up here." 

"Seventy-three times?" 

He smiles a little sheepishly at me and answers, "Hey, sometimes I needed it, too, you know?" 

"Thank you, Blair. For taking care of me last night. For being here when I needed you." 

"Hey, that's my job. Taking care of my Sentinel," he whispers, his eyes soft, his voice full of tenderness. 

I frown at him a little, I don't want this to be just about the Sentinel/Guide thing. But he laughs, he knows what I'm thinking cause he says, "I love you, Jim. You, not the Sentinel. I'll always take care of you." He shrugs a little and gives me a big grin and says, "Hey, it's what I do best. The Sentinel takes care of the tribe, and the Guide takes care of the Sentinel." 

"So who takes care of the Guide?" I whisper. 

He rolls us over so he's half on top of me and he takes my face in both his hands and he tells me fiercely, tenderly, "Jim Ellison takes care of me. Jim Ellison gave me a home, fed me, bought me books and clothes for Christmas and for my birthday. Jim Ellison put a door on my room for me. Jim Ellison gave me rides when the my car died, and then Jim Ellison fixed my car. And when my mother outed my dissertation, Jim Ellison fixed my life. I love being a cop. I love being your partner. You've always taken care of me. Always have, always will." Then he grins at me and I grin back. He kisses me hard and fast, making a loud smacking sound, then he pats my cheeks and says, "Now you can fix me breakfast. I want pecan pancakes with real butter and real maple syrup." 

I smile at him and stroke his hair and his back and the curve of his bottom and whisper, "Anything you want, baby. Anything you want." And he's warm and alive in my arms. And he's mine. Finally, finally mine. 

* * *

End Ready, Part ll by Pink Dragon: pinkdragon456@aol.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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